


Serendipity

by shomaun_ho



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blowjobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, borderline crack in places, gratuitous descriptions of Shoma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 19:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16540937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shomaun_ho/pseuds/shomaun_ho
Summary: ' It took longer than he'd have liked, to leave the banquet. They were caught by too many people, pulled aside for conversations Yuzuru, for one, certainly didn't want to have. Most embarrassingly of all, Stéphane had stopped them near the door, an innocent smile on his lips and a teasing light in his eyes that made Yuzuru's lip curl."Leaving so soon?" He asked, the question aimed at Shoma. Shoma nodded at him."Yuzuru has games," he said, in nervous, broken English. "We'll go play.""Will you now," Stéphane said. He looked at Yuzuru, and Yuzuru narrowed his eyes. "That's nice. I'll let you go, then. Playsafe." '**Or, Yuzuru has somefeelingsfor Shoma, and it's about time he did something about it. Things don't go exactly as planned.





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I said I'd write not-smut? 
> 
> Huge thanks to unos for like, inspiring this monstrosity, couldn't have done it without ya <3

"You're staring again."

Yuzuru jumped in his seat. His knees knocked painfully against the underside of the table, rattling the collection of dumped, half-empty glasses, abandoned water and wine and champagne. One, Yuzuru's own stout tumbler, teetered dangerously on the edge of the table, and he grabbed at it, pulling it protectively to his mouth.

"What?" He said dumbly. The chair to his left scraped out, and Stéphane lowered himself into it, folding one leg delicately over the other. Yuzuru side-eyed him warily. To the untrained observer, he seemed perfectly innocent; poised and elegant, hands folded neatly over his knee, watching Yuzuru with a tolerant, fatherly kind of gaze.

But Yuzuru wasn't stupid. He saw the rosy hue in Stephane's cheeks, saw his wide, glimmering eyes, and the smile curling up the corners of his lips was anything but virtuous.

Stéphane was observant, and Stéphane was very, very drunk.

"You are not subtle," Stéphane said, leaning a little into Yuzuru's personal space. Yuzuru pressed his glass first to one cheek, then the other; the banquet hall was warm, and Stéphane was sitting entirely too close for comfort, and his teasing, knowing accusations _burned_.

"I don't know what you talk about," Yuzuru said, staunch and haughty, taking a long sip from his glass. He had switched back to water, after a couple of glasses of champagne had raised the usual blotchy red patches on his neck and cheeks. They had also addled his senses more than he had expected, left him drifting a little aimlessly in his own head. Nothing stupid, nothing dangerous, but enough to put him a little on edge; it would be so very easy to loose his tongue, like this, spill one too many well-kept secrets.

And Stéphane _knew_ that, Yuzuru could tell. It was right there in his cheeky smile, the way his gaze darted from Yuzuru, to the opposite end of the room and back again. Yuzuru knew exactly what—no, _who_ —Stéphane was looking at, and it took a concentrated effort not to cast his eyes that way, too.

"I think you do," Stéphane said.

Yuzuru grit is teeth. Stéphane was annoyingly _astute_ , at times. For the most part, it was a wonderful trait to have—it made him a good friend, a better coach—but right now, Yuzuru had never hated him more for it.

"I think, at this point," Stéphane said, "even _he_ must know."

"Nothing to know," he said. "Did you need something? I saw Deniss, I think, he look for you earlier. You should go. Help him."

Stéphane waved a hand.

"He went to bed," he said. "So, I'm all yours."

"Thank you for the concern," Yuzuru said. "But I'm not needing help."

Stéphane settled back in his chair.

"You should just talk to him," Stéphane said, as though he hadn’t heard Yuzuru’s protests. Yuzuru sipped pointedly at his drink, trying to look like he wasn't listening. "It works much better than staring, I think."

"I talk all the time with him," Yuzuru said. "And I don’t stare." He raised his glass, took another drink.

"Do you talk to him about your little crush?"

Yuzuru inhaled an unpleasant lungful of water. It burned, and swelled tears in his eyes as he coughed and gasped, trying to catch his breath. Stéphane patted him gently on the back, but despite Yuzuru's obvious risk of death, he seemed unfazed.

"It's—I don't have _crush,"_ Yuzuru wheezed, beating a fist against his chest to dislodge the water.

Stéphane hummed, unconvinced.

"You look at him a lot," Stéphane said. "Everyone has noticed, do you know? Even Deniss has seen you. He said you watch him too closely in the changing rooms when he’s—"

Yuzuru gave a strangled little yell, and waved his hands frantically in Stephane's face.

"Stop! Stop," he said, glancing around them. "Don't—say those things so loudly."

"It's not news to anybody," Stéphane said. "Except Shoma, maybe, but I doubt he hasn't noticed your crush on him—"

"It _not_ a crush," Yuzuru said. And then, at Stephane's raised eyebrow, he conceded, "I look...a lot. Yes. But I don't crush on him. It's just a..." he trailed away, and Stéphane nodded coaxingly at him.

"A what?" Stéphane said.

"A...sex, thing," Yuzuru finished, quiet and a little lame. Stéphane pursed his lips, but Yuzuru could see the smile there, the barely concealed laughter. Yuzuru felt his face grow hot.

It was bad enough, being caught, but it was _worse_ somehow, to say it out loud; to admit to Stéphane in his own words that he had thought about...about _Shoma_ of all people, like—like that. He felt terrible enough as it was, every time those stray thoughts popped into his head, every time his eyes lingered a little too long, strained to catch even the smallest patches of skin at the hem of his shirts, above the waistband of his pants. He felt worse still confessing them aloud.

"If that's what you think," Stéphane said, after taking a moment to regain his composure. "Don't you think Shoma should know about this _sex thing?_ It's only fair, is it not?"

Yuzuru shook his head.

"It better to not," he said. "It is maybe—weird? I don't know if Shoma has interest, like that."

"In you?" Stéphane asked. Yuzuru squirmed in his seat.

"In men."

Stéphane opened his mouth in a silent, understanding _aah._ And then a smile, small, and honest, slipped neatly over his face.

"I don't think you have to worry about that."

Yuzuru shot him a look, and Stéphane—Stéphane _winked_ , the corner of his mouth pulling into a knowing smile. Yuzuru widened his eyes at him.

"What does that mean," he said, sharply. Stéphane dusted some nonexistent lint from his trouser leg.

"It’s not my place to say," he said, nonchalant. Yuzuru scowled. "I think, you should ask him yourself."

Yuzuru opened his mouth to reply, to ask just what Stéphane was implying, what did he _know_ , when from across the room came a little explosion of noise. Yuzuru and Stéphane both turned to see Shoma, darting out of reach as Wakaba, Kaori, and Satton advanced upon him, Kaori holding a flower crown—Zhenya's, Yuzuru thought, spotting her muffling her laughter in her hands—and looking particularly menacing. Shoma shook his head, but he was grinning, albeit a little nervously, and took refuge behind Keiji.

Yuzuru's eyes caught sight of Shoma's fingers, thin, delicate, sinking into the fabric at the back of Keiji's jacket. He saw the bob of his throat as he swallowed, the flash of teeth as he bit at his lip.

Yuzuru swallowed, and bit his lip, too.

"I told you," Stéphane said. "Not subtle."

Yuzuru wanted to deny it. He did, but his attention had been swept away, and Stéphane's presence at his side felt distant, unimportant. The commotion had settled, and Shoma had stepped out from behind Keiji, his back turned towards Yuzuru's table.

Maybe it was a problem with the suit, Yuzuru thought, but the fit seemed tighter than usual. It stretched snug across his shoulders and the jacket tapered nicely into his waist, and the pants—the pants hugged at the curve of his hips, his thighs, his—

Yuzuru coughed, and turned his gaze away. He could feel Stéphane's eyes drilling into him, openly _judging_.

"Why do you talk with me about it," Yuzuru said. He had hoped to sound angry or accusing, but his voice sounded pitifully quiet, even to his own ears. Stéphane's teasing gaze softened a little at the sound. He reached out a hand, braced it on Yuzuru's knee.

"It's not nice, having feelings—"

"—I have no _feeling_ —"

"—for somebody, and doing nothing about it. It's much better to talk, and be open. It might bring you something great."

Yuzuru squirmed again.

"It might not," he said. Stéphane conceded with a nod of his head.

"True, but moving on is better than holding to feelings that will come to nothing, is it not?"

Yuzuru mulled over his words quietly. Perhaps he had a point—even if he was misunderstanding the particular flavour of Yuzuru's...affections. Maybe it would be best to—to _try_ , and to see. Perhaps Shoma would be open to it, or else...well. Yuzuru didn't much like to think of the alternative. It made him fearful, thinking about all the ways it could go wrong. He was sure Shoma wouldn't _hate_ him for it. He wasn't oblivious to Yuzuru's preferences—nobody around him was, not really—but it might be different, if Shoma were to find out that Yuzuru felt that way about _him._

"Besides," Stéphane said, sitting back and rearranging the lapels of his suit. "I'm getting old. I have so few people to talk to at these events anymore. I have to keep myself entertained somehow."

He gave Yuzuru's leg one more squeeze, then stood, disappearing into the shifting throng behind them.

Yuzuru turned his gaze back across the room, and caught sight of Shoma milling in amongst the rest of their team. He was watching Keiji, smiling slightly at whatever he was saying.

Shoma had been drinking, too. Enough to breathe a little life into his cheeks, to raise that blotchy, ruddy blush across his jaw, down his neck. Shoma always looked so _alive_ , after a drink or two, teasing and playful with people _besides_ Keiji, engaging in a way that charmed everyone around him, not least of all Yuzuru.

Keiji must have said something funny, then, or else embarrassing; something that made Shoma scrunch his face up in laughter, head knocked back and eyes squeezed closed. Yuzuru swallowed, rolled the rim of his glass over his lips.

It was impossible to look away from him, like this.

Yuzuru knew it was probably a side effect of the alcohol, but Shoma seemed brighter than usual, caught in the small, twinkling lights from the chandelier above him. It made him stand out, pulled him into the foreground, where everyone and everything around him sunk into shadow. Shoma laughed harder, and the lights caught the sparkle of tears misting his lashes, squeezed about by the force of his giggles

Shoma’s head tilted back in mirth, and Yuzuru could see every thick, sinewy muscle, the bumps and grooves of his throat, the sharp line of bone at his jaw where the skin bruised a dark, uneven red. Yuzuru felt something like a whimper catch in his throat. _Pathetic._  He swallowed numbly.

Keiji said something else, smiling a little wickedly, and then Shoma was turning, and his eyes met Yuzuru's, where he was still—still _staring_. Shoma blinked at him, eyes wide, owlish, and tipped his head to one side, brows raised a little in question. Yuzuru felt something suffocatingly hot spill in his chest, stealing his breath. He jostled, kneed the underside of the table once again, and three glasses toppled with a quiet tinkle.

Yuzuru slammed his own glass to the table and rushed to right rest, thoroughly embarrassed, and by the time he looked up again, Shoma had gone.

He slumped back in his chair with a groan, and rubbed his hands over his face, pressed his fingers into his eyeballs. _Stupid._ Stupid, stupid. Maybe Stéphane was right, he thought, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. Maybe talking would be best. Maybe, if Shoma shot him down, he could make all of this stop—the staring, the thinking, even the _touching_ was getting a little much.

His cheeks warmed painfully as he remembered their evening, propped side by side on the tiny podium, Shoma squished into his side, fingers gripping at his waist to keep his balance. He remembered with alarming clarity, just how handsy he had been, constantly seeking out contact, whether it be a hand at Shoma’s hip, or his shoulder, even stroking absently at the back of his neck, playing idly with his hair.

Stéphane was right; he really hadn’t been subtle at all.

Yuzuru sunk lower in his seat, and groaned into his hands.

“Tired?”

Yuzuru stilled, then slowly lowered his fingers, blinking. Shoma had pulled out Stéphane’s seat and settled into it, hands wedged between his thighs as he looked at Yuzuru.

He looked impossibly better, somehow, up close. Every little detail that Yuzuru had admired from a distance seemed sharper, hit him harder. He stared dumbly for a second, then blinked rapidly, and looked down at his glass, twisting it in circles on the table top.

"Yeah," he lied. "Long day."

"Mm, yeah," Shoma stretched himself back in the chair, and—and he _had_ to be doing this on purpose, Yuzuru thought, watching the way Shoma craned his neck back, rolling his head slowly from one side to the other. It brought the long column of his throat into focus, and Yuzuru stared at it, absently wetting his lips. "I'm about ready to leave."

Yuzuru swallowed again. _Leave_ . He thought about what Stéphane had said, about _talking_. Maybe...maybe now wouldn't be a bad time. They could leave together, perhaps, and Yuzuru could offer to walk Shoma back to his room. Maybe Shoma would invite him in for a little while, and. And they could sit on Shoma's bed—it'd be messy, unmade, probably, but Yuzuru didn't much mind—face to face, Shoma propped up against the headboard and Yuzuru at the other end of the mattress, and Yuzuru could start off quiet, dip a toe in.

" _Shoma..._ ," he'd start, and Shoma would look at him, head cocked to the side, waiting. " _I_ _have something I want to talk about..._ "

"Keiji keeps threatening to find Zach and have him lift me again," Shoma said, pulling Yuzuru back into the present.

"Let him," Yuzuru said. "It's fun."

Shoma wrinkled his nose. Yuzuru knew why Shoma didn't much like it. He wasn't overly keen on being _touched_ , not by people he didn't know. Keiji was an exception, and Mihoko, and Yuzuru counted himself lucky to be on that list, now, after a couple of years of awkward flinches at every little point of contact.

Shoma let Yuzuru touch him, now. He had smiled all night at the victory ceremony, and earlier in the banquet, when the photographers had made their rounds, leaning into the press of Yuzuru's hand at the bottom of his back and returning the gesture in kind.

"I'll stay down here, thanks," he said. Yuzuru laughed lightly, and turned a little in his chair, calculated, until his knee knocked against Shoma's. Shoma didn't move away.

"You're missing out," Yuzuru said, creeping his hand down his own thigh, towards the point where he and Shoma touched. "It's a lot of fun. And Zach is _very_ strong."

Shoma seemed to consider this point for a little while, and Yuzuru took the opportunity to move his hand the rest of the way, until his fingers brushed Shoma's knee. Maybe he imagined it, he wasn't too sure, but it felt like Shoma leaned into the touch, just a little. Yuzuru stroked his fingertips lightly, brushing back and forth over Shoma's knee.

If he noticed, he ignored it.

"True," Shoma said. "But I'm pretty fond of _not_ being hurled into the air, you know?"

"He's not gonna _throw_ you," Yuzuru said, slapping halfheartedly at Shoma's thigh. "Just—lift. And anyway, you hurl _yourself_ into the air on a daily basis."

"That's different," Shoma said.

The conversation was so _mundane_ , but Yuzuru felt electric. He had brought his hand to rest on Shoma's thigh instead, a little too high for casual touch, but Shoma didn't seem overly bothered by it. He had given the smallest of twitches, when Yuzuru had rested his fingers, but it was a barely perceptible shift, one Yuzuru thought he might have made up. He gave an experimental rub of his thumb, and Shoma's gaze flitted quickly to his leg, before looking up again. 

"Doesn't matter anyway," Shoma said. "Because he's not touching me."

 _He's not_ , Yuzuru thought. _But I am_. And Shoma seemed so perfectly content with it, even when Yuzuru shifted in his chair, an excuse to rub his palm a little up Shoma's thigh and back down again, pretending he were simply bracing his weight there.

 _I don't think you have to worry about that_. Stephane's words swam in his head. Shoma was being impressively receptive to Yuzuru's sneaky touches—at least, he wasn't obviously discomfited by them, which Yuzuru took as a not-terrible sign.

Shoma stifled a yawn behind his hand, and when he lowered it, it dropped to rest loose on his thigh, teasingly close to Yuzuru's own. If he were braver, more sure, he might reach out and take it, run his fingertips over Shoma's palm.

"Do you wanna come play games for a while?"

Yuzuru had blurted the words before he had time to stop himself. Shoma blinked at him, considering. He looked a little taken aback by the sudden suggestion, but after a moment, he nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he said. "That'd be nice."

The inside of Yuzuru's mouth felt suddenly like sandpaper. Well. He had done it now. He had invited Shoma to his room, _alone_ , away from the banquet, with a simmering in his gut and Stephane's _advice_ still ringing in his head. Was it a terrible idea? Probably. But Shoma tickled his fingertips, barely, of the back of Yuzuru's hand as he moved, stretching again, and _fuck it._

What's the worst that could happen?

Yuzuru found himself thinking about that all the way back to his room. It took longer than he'd have liked, to leave the banquet. They were caught by too many people, pulled aside for conversations Yuzuru, for one, certainly didn't want to have. Most embarrassingly of all, Stéphane had stopped them near the door, an innocent smile on his lips and a teasing light in his eyes that made Yuzuru's lip curl.

"Leaving so soon?" He asked, the question aimed at Shoma. Shoma nodded at him.

"Yuzuru has games," he said, in nervous, broken English. "We'll go play."

"Will you now," Stéphane said. He looked at Yuzuru, and Yuzuru narrowed his eyes. "That's nice. I'll let you go, then. Play _safe_."

Yuzuru doubted Shoma's English was good enough to catch Stephane's parting words, but he scowled at him for good measure anyway. He liked Stéphane, he truly did, but tonight he could have happily throttled him.

They walked silently to the lift. Shoma stood entirely too close, once they were inside, the heat of him bleeding against Yuzuru's side. It would be so easy to reach out and touch, curve a hand around Shoma's waist, ease him closer still, until his back pressed flush to Yuzuru's front.

But what if Shoma didn't _want_ it. What if Shoma turned him down? What if Yuzuru tried to touch him, and Shoma pushed him away? What if—what if Shoma _hated_ him for it?

Yuzuru fretted as they walked, tying his thoughts in knots, until before he knew it they had stopped. Outside his hotel room door.

Yuzuru's palms were sweaty. He fumbled for his wallet, fishing through cards upon cards until he found the one for the door, and all the while he could feel Shoma's eyes on him, patiently waiting, thoroughly unbothered by Yuzuru's obvious unease.

 _This was a mistake_ , he thought, fishing out the card. _This was dumb, I am dumb, what have I done?_

Perhaps he should say nothing. That seemed reasonable enough—just invite Shoma in to play games, for real, and then in a couple of hours Shoma could leave, and Yuzuru could go to bed, probably frustrated, but with his dignity and his and Shoma's friendship intact.

He gazed at Shoma in his periphery. He was looking at at the door now, gaze a little blank, chewing vaguely at his bottom lip while he waited. Yuzuru dared to look a little closer, at the deep red skin of his cheek, where the blood flowed close under the skin, trailing down beneath his jaw. He bit back a groan. He'd bet anything that that blush continued on, marring his chest, maybe lower.

He wanted so _desperately_ to find out.

"Did you find it?"

"Huh?" Yuzuru said, jumping a little on the spot. Shoma gestured to his wallet.

"Your key card," he said, "did you find it?"

"Oh, yeah," Yuzuru said, holding it up between his fingers. He took his time closing his wallet, slipping it back into the pocket of his jacket.

"Should we...go inside, then?" Shoma prompted.

"Right. Yeah."

Yuzuru sucked in a breath, and swiped his key card over the lock. The little light flickered green, but Yuzuru didn't move. He stared at it, fingers on the handle, but didn't push to open it. He was...really going to do this. Take Shoma to his room, sit him down, make him comfortable, and then—what?

Would it be better to talk? Broach the topic gently, ease Shoma into the idea. _I've been thinking_ ...no, that wouldn't do. Maybe, _I was wondering—_ wondering what? Yuzuru has been wondering an awful lot of things, lately, things he can't possibly bring up so brazenly. Things that Shoma might find unpleasant, _disgusting_.

 _I wanted to talk_ , perhaps, or, _I had an idea_ , or...or maybe talking wasn't the right answer at all. Maybe he should wait until they're propped side by side on the pillows, shoes toed off beside the bed. Maybe Shoma will have thrown his jacket over the armchair, loosened his tie and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt. Maybe he'll have untucked it from his pants, let it hang loose, haphazard at his hips, and—and he'll roll up his sleeves, tuck them up to the elbows to keep the cuffs out of his way while he plays.

And Yuzuru will shuffle close, closer, until they're pressed side by side from shoulder to toe, Shoma's elbows knocking into his own as they play. As _Shoma_ plays, because Yuzuru will be too busy looking at him to concentrate on anything else. He'll have his tongue poking out, surely, flicking to wet his plump, chapped lips, eyes dark and narrowed with focus, fingers flitting over the screen of his phone, and when Yuzuru reaches out, brushes his fingers along Shoma's wrist, Shoma will look up, wide-eyed, curious, and he will continue to stare even as Yuzuru leans in, tucks his knuckles beneath Shoma's chin, tilts his head and..and—

Shoma nudged at his side, and Yuzuru slammed back into reality with a jolt. Still in the corridor. Still holding the door handle. Silent, unmoving.

"Earth to Yuzuru," he said, poking Yuzuru's waist again. "Are we going in, or—?"

"Right," Yuzuru said, shaking the residual fog of the fantasy out of his head. "Right, yeah."

He fumbled with the handle, but in the time he had been standing, the door had locked itself again.

"Sorry," he said, laughing nervously. Shoma looked mostly unfazed, but there was an edge of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips that made Yuzuru's face burn hot. "Just...tired," he added, and Shoma nodded in understanding.

"It's fine, me too," he said. And then, with a long, slow blink, eyes impossibly wide, he added, "I can go, if you wanna sleep."

"No!" Yuzuru said, a little too loud. He cleared his throat, lowered his tone. "No, I mean—I'm not too tired for—to play games for a while."

"...right," Shoma said. There was something...odd, in the look he gave Yuzuru. Knowing, almost, except—no. Not possible.

Yuzuru unlocked the door for a second time, and hurried to push the handle, holding it open and gesturing for Shoma to go first. Shoma inclined his head in thanks, and stepped over the threshold. Yuzuru followed him with trembling knees.

"So," he started, voice cracking awkwardly. He coughed, clicked on the light, pushed the door closed, turned slowly on his heel. "I was thinking—"

Yuzuru's back hit the closed door with a soft _thunk_. It took him a moment too long to register what had happened, what _was_ happening, and for a second he thought he must still be somewhere far in his own head, hunkered in a perfect vision of just how he'd _like_ for this encounter to go, but.

No.

No, he wasn't _imagining_ Shoma's lips on his throat. And he wasn't imagining Shoma's hands, low on his waist, pinning him back, and he wasn't imagining one of Shoma's legs wedged between his own, Shoma's hips rolling tantalisingly forward, the beginnings of a telltale hardness digging into Yuzuru's thigh.

He blinked, staring somewhere over the top of Shoma's head, dazed.

_What?_

"Shoma—" he started, hands finding purchase on Shoma's shoulders. They felt so much _broader_ , somehow, like this; firm, and strong. Yuzuru pinched at the muscle when Shoma's tongue flicked out from between his lips, dancing over a particularly sensitive patch of skin beneath his jaw. Yuzuru reflexively craned his head up, gives him space.

Shoma hummed placidly, the sound vibrating against Yuzuru's neck. His fingers slipped against Yuzuru's waist, dipped low, tease over the waistband of his pants.

 _This can't be happening_ , Yuzuru thought, as Shoma gripped the fabric of his shirt, tugging to untuck it from his trousers, rucking it up enough to push his hands beneath it, smooth them over the soft skin of Yuzuru's belly. He could feel himself tighten up beneath the touch, muscles clenching, quivering where the softness of Shoma's fingertips dance over him. _It can't be_ , Shoma wouldn't—Shoma isn't—

"Shoma, wait, what—stop, just a second, I'm—"

It took some impossible strength, sourced from who knows where, for Yuzuru to slip his hands against Shoma's chest, for Yuzuru to push him away, and it seemed _stupid_ to do it, given that this is—well, it's exactly what Yuzuru had hoped for.

It's just, he didn't _get_ it. It didn't make sense, not when they had planned to relax, when Shoma had agreed to hang out, play games, spend the evening quietly, much like they often tried to do when competition downtime allowed them. It wasn't an unusual request, even if Yuzuru's intentions had been...different.

It wasn’t possible, surely, that Shoma had had the same idea. Unless...

"Did you talk to Stéphane?"

"What?" Shoma said, startled, lifting his head from Yuzuru's throat for the first time. There was a familiar ache in the skin, where Shoma's mouth had been, a dull, throbbing pain, hot and heavy beneath his skin. A bruise, sucked into place. Yuzuru shuddered at the thought.

"Did you—what are you doing?"

Shoma stared at him. Brows creased, a little frown wrinkling the skin at the very top of his nose. His gaze flitted over Yuzuru's face, darting between his eyes, searching, and then, slowly, the puckered skin of his forehead smoothed out, and his eyes grew wider, impossibly big, and he stepped back a little, hands slipping from beneath Yuzuru's shirt.

"I thought..." he started, tentatively, and then, "this—isn't what you wanted?"

"What? No, I never—I never said _that."_ Yuzuru reached for Shoma's retreating hands, grabbing him gently by the wrists. "I didn't mean I _don't_ —I just—why?"

Shoma cocked his head, and a few stray strands of curly hair dropped over his eyes. Yuzuru was very familiar with _this_ particular look; bug-eyed, lips pouted, brows lifted just a touch closer to his hairline than normal. Shoma was confused. Yuzuru was used to that. It felt almost normal, really, except. Well.

He'd never seen it with Shoma's dick pressed half-hard against his thigh before.

 _That_ was very unusual indeed.

"You...aren't subtle," Shoma said. He spoke slowly, clearly, as though talking to a particularly difficult child. If the situation had been simpler, Yuzuru might have reached out, flicked the space between his eyes, or else poked his cheeks, pinched and pulled at the skin there, punishment for his nerve. It's less fun, now, with no fat to grab on to, but the thought feels comfortably familiar all the same.

"You have been talking to Stéphane," Yuzuru grumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm not—" Yuzuru huffed through his nose, then took a deep, calming breath, gathering his thoughts. Impossibly, even like this, Shoma is still fully capable of being a _brat_. "I'm not, like, _obvious,"_ he said. Shoma quirked a brow.

"I mean, you're not _not_ obvious," he said.

"I—how?"

Shoma shifted a little closer, until the press of his hips against Yuzuru's thigh was less of a tease and more of a sure, solid touch. Yuzuru bit back a groan.

"You've been...looking," Shoma said. "A lot."

"I always look a lot," Yuzuru breathed weakly. His voice sounded hazy even to his own ears, distracted, as Shoma's mouth trailed along his jaw, teeth nipping at his chin.

"I know," Shoma said. "I noticed. And you were _touchy."_

"I'm always—"

"More than usual, I mean," Shoma said. His fingers slithered back under Yuzuru's shirt, and this time, Yuzuru felt the sharp bite of nails scraping loosely against him. It didn't hurt, but the sensation jarred him, enough to clench the muscles in his stomach, make him jerk into the touch. He could _feel_ Shoma's smile, pressed against his cheek.

"And you were getting so—close—tonight," Shoma said, punctuating the words with hot, open kisses across Yuzuru's jaw. “I’m not an idiot, Yuzu.”

Yuzuru shifted from foot to foot, twisted his head to let Shoma's lips trail back down his throat, to his collar. Shoma's fingers tangled in the knot of his tie, pulling at it, drawing it loose and all the while, his tongue played in the hollow at the base of Yuzuru's throat, poking out and dipping in to lick at the skin. Yuzuru was sure he must taste bad, salty, as sweat was building rapidly over every inch of him, but Shoma only gave a barely-there groan, a breathy ghost of a thing, and began unfastening the top couple of buttons of Yuzuru's shirt.

"That's not—that unusual," Yuzuru said. His hands darted to catch Shoma's waist. He felt impossibly hot in his suit, and every tiny part of him that made contact with Shoma _burned_ , a tingling white heat. The feel of Shoma's hands on his skin, smoothing around his waist, grazing low on his back, was dizzying. Yuzuru felt more drunk now than he'd done at the banquet, excited and intoxicated, thoroughly overwhelmed by Shoma's every bold move.

"Maybe not," Shoma said softly. He pulled his head back, and looked up at Yuzuru, who struggled to find his balance, steady the spinning in his head enough to meet Shoma's gaze.

For a while, Shoma said nothing. Yuzuru blinked dumbly down at him, then said, just as dumbly, "what?"

Shoma grinned. His eyes looked innocent enough, but the sharp glint of his teeth was _wicked_.

"Keiji told me."

"Kei— _hah?_ "

Shoma scrunched up his nose on a laugh, and stretched up on his toes, until his lips were within inches, centimetres, _millimetres_ from Yuzuru's.

"I told you," he said, the shiver of a chuckle still evident in his tone, "you're not subtle."

Yuzuru opened his mouth to retaliate, because _hey no I have been the most subtle for longer than you can imagine,_ but before he could so much as make the indignant huff he so wanted to make, Shoma's mouth pressed to his own, catching Yuzuru's bottom lip delicately between his teeth and rolling the tip of his tongue over it.

Yuzuru gave a startled kind of groan, hands latching harder onto Shoma's waist. Shoma's lips were warm, and pillow-soft, and he could barely feel the bumps and cracks of dry, damaged skin. He tasted faintly of wine, the deep, velvety red that Yuzuru had only dared barely to sip, and something else, something sweet and rich, heady on Yuzuru's tongue.

Shoma blew a long, low breath through his nose, and the air fanned cool against Yuzuru's heated skin. With it came something soft, a quiet, barely there sound, bleeding out from somewhere deep in Shoma's throat. A little like a moan, but too gentle. Too delicate. Yuzuru reached a hand to cup Shoma's jaw—the skin there felt blisteringly hot—and tilt his face, slot their mouths more neatly together, and when Yuzuru opened his lips against Shoma's welcoming the soft, languid licks of his tongue, Shoma rewarded him with the same shy mewl, curling his hands around Yuzuru's hips and pulling him closer.

Shoma pulled away first, slowly, and Yuzuru followed helplessly, nipping once at Shoma's retreating lips before knocking his head back against the door, and sucking a few great lungfuls of air. He felt breathless, thoroughly winded, and the struggle to catch his breath did not ease with the way Shoma's hands were roving, fingers catching at the buckle of his belt.

The tight quiver in his chest didn't let up as Shoma kissed his way down it, over his shirt, then dropped— _god_ —dropped to his knees between Yuzuru's feet, and mouthed openly at the pale strip of skin above the waistband of Yuzuru's pants. Yuzuru pressed the back of his hand over his mouth, biting back the beginnings of a pathetic, whimpering moan.

Shoma took his time, teasing the fastenings of Yuzuru's pants. He sucked deep, wet kisses against Yuzuru's stomach, from hip to hip, teeth catching at the sharp jut of bone there. He trailed tender, puckered lips up and down the dark hair tracking from Yuzuru's naval and down, out of reach, for now.

And when he mouthed at the outline of Yuzuru's hardening cock over his pants, lips and tongue finding the already damp patch where the head of him lay, twitching and leaking onto his clothes, Shoma sucked there, too, drawing the wet cloth between his teeth and laving it with his tongue. Yuzuru shuddered, knees quaking. He pressed both hands over his mouth to stifle the sounds clawing low in his throat.

Shoma only pulled away when he'd finished painstakingly unfastening the button on Yuzuru's waistband. He peeked up at Yuzuru briefly, eyes doe-wide and blown black, sparkling, and the rough fabric of Yuzuru's slacks must have irritated the skin of his lips, because they looked red, and swollen—plump and pouted. Yuzuru dropped a hand to Shoma's cheek, touched his jaw, his forehead, his lips—he felt lost, helpless. Unsure where he should touch, what he should do with his hands.

He settled for tucking a few loose, overgrown strands of hair behind Shoma's ear, out of the way, better for Yuzuru to look at him.

"Is this okay?" Shoma asked. Yuzuru choked, then nodded.

"It's—more than okay," he said, rushed and breathy. "It's good. Great. Keep—keep going?"

Shoma nodded up at him, one sharp, sure jerk of his head, then leaned forward, eyes half-closed, and kissed languidly at the freshly exposed skin, just above the waistband of his boxers, now. Just above the soaked patch of fabric, see-through with damp, where the outline of Yuzuru's cock stood painfully clear.

Shoma hummed softly, low in his throat, as the very tips of his fingers hooked beneath the elastic, tugged teasingly downwards. Yuzuru's cock trapped his boxers in place, caught like cloth on a hanger, and Yuzuru whined helplessly as Shoma gave a few short little tugs. The pressure on his cock head was _exquisite_. Shoma was playing him, like an absolute master of the craft.

"Shoma," he breathed, and—something about saying it, saying Shoma's name out loud, like this, sounding like _that_ , send a burst of warmth through his chest, low, and sudden enough to knock the wind right out of him. Shoma was really here, really touching him, really, _really_ pulling the waistband of his boxers away from his skin, down, freeing his length at last.

Yuzuru chanced another look down, and the breath in his throat caught around an aborted, choked out groan.

Shoma looked... _obscene_. Those wide, beautiful eyes stared up at him, locked on to Yuzuru's own, so open and so—so innocent, head tilted inquisitively to one side, his lips still welted red, still swollen, parted just a little, right in the middle, a gap barely big enough for Yuzuru to slip his finger into. It wouldn't look quite so bad, so...indecent, if it weren't for Yuzuru's cock, bobbing hard and red before him, twitching so, so close to Shoma's lips. Close enough to touch, if Yuzuru dared to move.

Shoma hummed again. He gazed at Yuzuru's length with an almost virginal curiosity, eyes crossing a little as he leaned in impossibly closer, apparently taking in the view. He brought a hand up, traced the very tip of one finger up the underside, from base to tip, a tickle of a touch that made the flesh jump, and a fresh bead of fluid leak from his slit.

He pulled away. Yuzuru bit back an indignant little whine as he watched Shoma shrug lazily out of his own jacket, tug his own tie loose, unfasten the top few buttons of his own shirt. Yuzuru had envisioned him, just like this, except—except not like this at _all_ , because in Yuzuru's head, Shoma was so unassuming. Reclined on the bed, playing games, unaware of Yuzuru's building will to debauch him.

He certainly wasn't kneeling on the floor at Yuzuru's feet, knees splayed, licking his lips, eyeing Yuzuru's cock so _hungrily._

"Shoma," Yuzuru breathed again. Shoma blinked up at him, held Yuzuru's gaze as he brought up his hand again, this time pressing the pad of his thumb to Yuzuru's shaft, pushing it up, until it pressed flush against Yuzuru's belly. Yuzuru's eyes fluttered.

"Can I keep going?" Shoma asked, and honestly, Yuzuru thought it was the stupidest question he'd ever been asked in his whole _life._

"Yes," he choked thickly, hips rutting forward of their own accord. "Yes, _please_."

Shoma pinched back a grin. Yuzuru narrowed his eyes. _Little shit_ , he thought, stomach clenching as Shoma ran his thumb up and down Yuzuru's shaft, keeping it pressed firmly against Yuzuru's tight, quivering abdomen. Shoma knew exactly what he was doing, and Yuzuru couldn't decide if he loved it or hated it.

 _Love it_ , he concluded, the moment Shoma leaned forwards, dragging an open mouth kiss from the base of Yuzuru's length, right the way to his head. Shoma's lips felt hot and wet, and Yuzuru could see a fine sheen of saliva, shiny and damp where his mouth had been. He knocked his head back again, hard, and fought to keep himself still as Shoma kissed at him, slow, unhurried nips and licks up and down the length of him.

Shoma left no part of him untouched. He sucked deep, red bruises into the insides of Yuzuru's thighs, bit at the thin, tender skin of his groin, even drew Yuzuru's balls up into his mouth, one at a time, rolling them against his tongue, pressing them against the roof of his mouth just hard enough to edge on uncomfortable. Enough to curl Yuzuru's toes.

He touched him everywhere, in every way, lips and hands and tongue and teeth, but he left the flushed, weeping head of Yuzuru's cock completely untouched.

It was _agonising_. Yuzuru wanted nothing more than to be swallowed up by him, to slide deep into Shoma's mouth, into his throat, if he could, feel Shoma suck and swallow around him, feel the practised lave of his tongue, the rhythmic pump and twist of his fist.

And maybe he should ask for it. Demand it. Sink his fingers deep into Shoma's hair and grip him, pull him, shift him where Yuzuru wants him, or else he should beg—but he felt incapable of either. He felt incapable of just about _anything_ , pinned as he was by Shoma's every little touch, every look. Periodically, Shoma turned those huge bambi eyes on him, gazing up through his lashes. Yuzuru knew he must look a mess, mouth dropping open and snapping closed, eyes rolling, head lolling dangerously on his shoulders, but he couldn't _help_ it. Couldn't help the heat flaming in the skin of his chest, his neck, his cheeks. Couldn't help the saliva gathering at his lips, wetting them, for no matter how much he swallowed, his throat remained dry, clenching uselessly around the breaths he sucked through his teeth.

He felt thoroughly hypnotised, vulnerable to Shoma's every move.

"You're doing well," Shoma said, It sounded a little matter-of-fact, coming from him, and so unbelievably _normal_ , as though Yuzuru was on particularly good form at practice, and not that he was holding out (barely) from coming from the most unexpectedly good blowjob he'd ever had in his life. It was almost laughable. Yuzuru huffed out a little chuckle, and shuffled his feet, toes knocking against Shoma's splayed knees.

"Could say the same about you," Yuzuru slurred, neck straining around a weak little groan when Shoma stroked back his foreskin, tongue flicking at the exposed tag of sensitive skin beneath. He twitched, writhing against the door. "Oh, _fuck_ , Shoma."

Shoma hummed happily against him. He looked overly pleased with himself, kneeling where he was, suckling contentedly at the smooth underside of Yuzuru's cock.

And then he moved back, and Yuzuru's length bobbed helplessly between them, the head once again standing _painfully_ close to Shoma's cherry red, pillowy lips. This time, though, Shoma moved closer. He rolled his eyes up once more, catching Yuzuru's gaze, and there was an intensity there that he hadn't seen before—still wide-eyed and soft, but with a focused, determined glint.

Agonisingly slowly, he moved, until the very tip of Yuzuru's cock brushed against his lips. A whisper of a touch, but enough to spread a thin, clear sheen of pre-cum over his mouth, glossing his lips, and when Shoma drew back a little, a thick, stringy line connected his mouth to Yuzuru's leaking slit. Yuzuru groaned, _loud_ , a bark of a thing that ripped it's way from somewhere deep in his throat, and the fingers of one hand clenched hard into Shoma's hair, clawing for purchase.

" _Sho_ ," he whined, rocking his hips a little, nudging at Shoma's mouth. It looked filthy, _felt_ filthy, and Yuzuru almost wanted to apologise for it, but Shoma simply licked his lips, and dropped his jaw.

It Yuzuru had thought Shoma looked obscene before, it was _nothing_ , nothing to how he looked now. One hand braced lightly on Yuzuru's hip, the other pressed palm to the floor, between his own spread knees. Eyes half-lidded, lashes impossibly long, impossibly dark, shadowing the red hue of his cheeks. Mouth open, tongue pillowing his bottom teeth; waiting. Inviting.

Yuzuru stared down at him. And then he pinched himself, hard on the thigh. He must be dreaming. He must be; there is no way on this earth that he could be so incredibly lucky—not only to have Shoma on his knees before him, but to have Shoma _starting_ it, and better yet, Shoma knowing exactly what he was doing there.

"Can I—" he said breathlessly, hips pressing forward, knocking against Shoma's lips, his tongue. Shoma nodded, and brought both hands up, smoothed his palms against the hot, bare skin of Yuzuru's hips. Something to hold on to, Yuzuru thought, to give himself a little control. Good. Yuzuru didn't really trust he wouldn't lose himself, once he got going.

One hand still buried deep in the hair atop Shoma's head, Yuzuru eased his hips forward, slowly. The tip of his cock brushed against Shoma's tongue; he twitched, an involuntary jump, and a drop of fluid pooled in Shoma's waiting mouth.

"Sorry," he said. Shoma gave him what he supposed was meant to be a withering glance, but it was difficult to pull off, with the head of Yuzuru's cock slipping into his mouth.

Shoma stilled him there. Both hands pinched at Yuzuru's hips, pushed him, not enough to draw him back, but enough to tell him to stop. Yuzuru trembled with the effort of keeping still, struggled harder still, when Shoma closed his lips around him, suckling at the head.

" _A—ah_ , Sho—you— _oh_ —you feel so good," he whispered, hitching in a breath as Shoma tongued at his slit, teasing, wriggling the very tip against him. Shoma gave another hum, and the sound vibrated around him. His hips jumped, jerking forward, and Shoma's fingers tightened at his hips.

"Can I—" he said, whining a little helplessly when Shoma nodded, and relaxed his hold.

Yuzuru kept the first couple of thrusts shallow. Shoma's eyes fluttered closed, scrunched a little in concentration as he hollowed his cheeks around Yuzuru's intruding length, swallowing sporadically, breathing measured, steady breaths through his nose. Yuzuru watched in fascination, as inch after inch of him disappeared with each new, deeper thrust.

The flush on Shoma's jaw stood out like a rough, ruddy welt. Yuzuru caught the strong just of bone with one hand, brushing his thumb over the heated skin. The muscle beneath his touch shook a little as it stretched, wider and wider to accommodate Yuzuru's length, slipping deeper into his mouth.

Everything was _warm_ , wet and tight where Shoma's cheeks and tongue squeezed in around him. He drew out slowly, until only the very tip of him was caught between Shoma’s shiny, pouted lips, and pushed in again with his pace tremulously measured, past the depth head reached before, until—

“ _Fuck_.”

Yuzuru  felt the back of Shoma's throat against his head at about the same moment Shoma's nose brushed up against his crotch, pressed into the thatch of dark, tight curls there. He drew a shuddering breath, feeling the familiar burst of coiled, twisted heat spreading low in his gut, tingling the bottom of his spine.

Shoma's shoulders gave an odd jerk, a heave, and Yuzuru pulled back abruptly, cock slipping out of Shoma's mouth with a wet pop. Shoma sucked a couple of deep, gasping breaths, swallowing reflexively against nothing, and reached a shaky hand to wrap around Yuzuru's length, stroking with a sharp flick of his wrist.

"Sorry," Yuzuru said again, fucking slowly, unconsciously into Shoma's pumping fist. Shoma shook his head, and latched his mouth against the side of Yuzuru's shaft, mouthing wetly at him.

"It's fine," he said, voice hoarse. He drew a long lick, tongue flattened, up to Yuzuru's head, and sucks him into his mouth again. The sound was obscene, and made Yuzuru's cheeks flush hot, but the sensation was blissful, and he closed his eyes, melted into the feeling of Shoma bobbing his mouth up and down over him.

He pulled off again with another wet, sucking sound, and took a couple more panting breaths.

"You can keep going, if you want," he said. Yuzuru blinked blearily down at him.

"If it's uncomfortable—"

"It's fine," Shoma said again. He stroked over Yuzuru slowly, fist loose, a grip firm enough to keep him on edge, nothing more. "I don't mind. It—feels good, right?"

"Right," Yuzuru said lazily, rocking up into Shoma's touch.

"Then it's fine."

And before Yuzuru could even _try_ and protest, Shoma swallowed him down, slow and measured, eyes squeezed shut, this time, as Yuzuru hit the back of his throat, groaning.

Once again, he found himself unsure of what he should do with his hands. It felt cruel, to tangle them in Shoma's hair, but it felt rude not to touch him at _all_ , and Yuzuru found his fingers flitting from Shoma's shoulders to his neck, tickling under his jaw, brushing down against the tops of his arms, searching for something to hold on to, to ground him.

Shoma coaxed him into moving with his hands tugging at Yuzuru's hips, this time, guiding him forward, finding a pace for him, and Yuzuru settled into it with his mouth dropped open, and quiet, continuous moan spilling past his lips. The simmering heat in his belly sparked like fire, sharp, and growing uncontrollably with every thrust into the tight warmth of Shoma's mouth.

"Sho— _ah-ha_ —Shoma, Shoma—"

It took a concentrated effort to lift his head, but Yuzuru forced himself to, dropping his chin to his chest and staring through pleasure-hazed eyes at Shoma's face, lips pouting and gliding over Yuzuru's length every time he pulled out, pushed back in again. He looked so impossibly _good_ , like this, as though he were made for it—the sharp line of his jaw, standing out even more as it stretched, and the fullness of his lips, stroking against Yuzuru's shaft. he brought a hand up, brushed his thumb to the corner of Shoma's mouth, felt the tug and pull of his lips and he thrust in and out of him.

"Fuck, you look— _hng,"_ he gasped, choked. He didn't know how to say it, what word could be strong enough to explain the utterly perfect picture Shoma made, on his knees like this. He trailed away, thrusts coming a little sharper, a little more sporadic. He curled his knuckles, soft, against Shoma's cheek; a stroke, barely there, but it must have been enough to catch Shoma's attention, because Shoma's eyes fluttered open, and he rolled them up to look at Yuzuru's face and _oh._

If Yuzuru thought Shoma couldn't have looked better, he was dead wrong. His eyes were watery, tears caught like shimmering stars in his lashes, water gathering and threatening to spill onto his cheeks.his pupils were bloated, swollen, sucking up even the dark brown of his irises, leaving nothing but endless, shiny black. He blinked at him, and his gaze fell half-lidded, and his face turned into the soothing stroke of Yuzuru's knuckles, and—

—Yuzuru pulled back with a yelp, scrambling to draw himself from the back of Shoma's throat in time, to pull away, catch himself, but—too late.

He came with a startled, strangled cry, tension building and snapping so suddenly, Yuzuru barely even saw it coming. Thick, milky ropes spilled out of him, catching Shoma's still-parted lips, spattering against his cheek.

"I'm so sorry," Yuzuru rasped, staring in abject _horror_ at the mess on Shoma's face. "I'm—oh my god, wait, let me get you—something." He remained on the spot, cock half-hard and hanging loose from his open fly, eyes searching fruitlessly for something with which he could wipe his dripping fluid from Shoma's face.

"Wait, bathroom, I'll—towels, hang on—"

He stopped.

Shoma was still looking up at him, thumb brushing the residue from his lip, but he didn't look upset, or angry, or revolted, or anything of the looks Yuzuru might have expected. He was _smiling_. Laughing, almost, barely holding back.

He rubbed at his cheek with the back of his hand, which did nothing much but smear the mess further across his face, and licked at his lips, grinning. There was something _coy_ about it, and a little smug, but mostly he looked wholly amused, which...Yuzuru wasn't sure he was entirely okay with that, honestly.

"You're not supposed to laugh after sucking someone’s dick, you know," he said, a little bitterly.

Shoma bit his lip, and nodded, faux-solemn.

"You're right," he said. "Very sorry."

Yuzuru really did flick him between the eyes, this time.

"Wait here," he said. He trotted to the bathroom on shaking legs, haphazardly tucking himself back into his boxers as he went, and fished the damp face cloth from it's home, hooked over the rim of the sink.

Shoma watched him wordlessly as he returned, and knelt in front of him. Yuzuru caught his knuckles beneath Shoma's chin and wiped gingerly at the mess, clearing it first from his cheek, and then his chin, wiping gently over the tender, red skin of his bottom lip. Shoma let him work quietly, and every now and then, when Yuzuru chanced a glance at his eyes, he found them watching him, wide and bright. The sight made his heart squeeze tight in his chest. He looked soft, trusting. Patient, while Yuzuru reached for his hands, wiping the wet mix of Shoma's saliva and his own fluids off of his palm, between his fingers.

"Messy," Yuzuru muttered. He brought Shoma's freshly cleaned hand up, towards his face, and pressed brushed his lips over Shoma's fingertips. Shoma watched him with open curiosity.

"Thanks," Shoma said, eyes tracking Yuzuru's lips as they moved from finger to finger. At his thumb, Yuzuru stopped, and drew the digit a little way into his mouth, laving the very tip of his tongue over it. Shoma's breath hitched oddly in his chest.

"Welcome," Yuzuru said, and then, "and thank you, for...you know."

"Hmm," Shoma purred, low and pleased. He reached his hand back, carded his fingers into the hair behind Yuzuru's ear, and leaned forward, pulling Yuzuru to meet him in a soft kiss.

Yuzuru could feel Shoma's smile against his mouth, and the contented sigh of breath fanning out over his face. His cheeks felt pleasantly warm, heated by Shoma's tender affections. He felt a little unprepared, honestly, for the level of intimacy Shoma had shown him—the tender touches, gentle kisses. He felt more unprepared still, for how much he _liked_ it.

 _I don't have a crush_ , he'd said to Stéphane. _Just a...sex, thing._ He felt himself flush at his own stupidity. His own ignorance.

 _Denial_. Yuzuru mentally waved Stephane's words from his head. Shoma was still kissing him, easy, languid strokes of his tongue coaxing little sounds from Yuzuru's throat. One hand played with the collar of Yuzuru's shirt, the other stroked at his hair. Yuzuru reached for Shoma's waist, his hips, something to hold on to. His fingers brushed at Shoma's thigh in passing, and Shoma gave a strange little jolt. He made an odd, punched out grunt, and suddenly, Yuzuru remembered that this interaction had, thus far, been so _very_ one-sided.

"Bed," he mumbled, not even lifting his mouth away from Shoma's. Shoma hummed in agreement, and the two of them clambered up from the floor, Yuzuru toeing off his shoes and popping open the buttons on Shoma's shirt. He nudged Shoma back, towards the bed, breath catching as Shoma licked a little more deeply into his mouth. Less soft, less gentle.

He pushed Shoma's shirt off his shoulders once the last button was unfastened, hands spreading over the new, uncovered skin; fingers tickling at his shoulders, his arms, palms running down his sides, into the slight dip of his waist and settling on the strong muscle at his hips. Shoma, for his part, wasted no time with anymore buttons. He shucked the hem of Yuzuru's shirt up, over his chest, until it tangled up under their chins, and only then did Shoma pull himself back. Yuzuru caught a brief glimpse of him through the neck of his shirt; an easy, carefree smile, throat bobbing in soft laughter, a pink hue lighting his cheeks and his eyes impossibly bright—and then he was gone, lost in the mess of gnarled fabric.

Yuzuru knew he must look _stupid_ , popping out of his shirt. His hair stuck up and out at odd angles, and his face—he knew how dumbstruck he must look, staring at Shoma as he shook his head, fond, and reached both hands to flatten the upended strands atop Yuzuru's head.

 _Not a crush_ , he thought, staring dumbly as Shoma stretched up on his toes again, cupping Yuzuru's chin in both hands to kiss him. _Yeah, right._

They jolted to a stop when Shoma's knees hit the bed. For a moment, Yuzuru thought they might stay standing, and then Shoma tipped, and Yuzuru followed him helplessly, crumbling in a heap on the mattress.

Shoma didn't stop kissing him even as he propped himself up on his elbows, kicked off his shoes. He didn't stop as they crawled back up the bed, shuffling over the mattress. And he didn't stop even as he lowered himself back onto the pillows, Yuzuru cupping a hand under his head, following him down, opening his mouth gently to the flick of Shoma's tongue at his lips.

Yuzuru was almost content to stay just like this, half-lying on Shoma's bare chest, one hand tangled in the thick hair at the back of his head, the other at his waist, thumb brushing back and forth over the smooth skin. And then Shoma shifted, and his crotch brushed against Yuzuru's thigh, jolting Yuzuru sharply out of his sweet, lulled haze.

He pulled back reluctantly, weakly giving in once, twice, to Shoma's chasing, before moving far enough that, even craning his neck, Shoma couldn't reach him.

"What about you?" Yuzuru said, stroking a hand up Shoma's bare side. Shoma shuddered pleasantly, sinking deeper into the pillows. "Do you want me to...?" He gestured, vaguely, towards the door, to the space they had occupied before,and then towards the bulge in Shoma's pants.

Shoma wrinkled his nose, looking...a little disgusted, actually, and shook his head.

"What,” Yuzuru said, “you don't think I can give good head?" His cheeks burned a little pink. He was mostly mocking. _Mostly_. But there was a definite edge of whine to his tone, a hint of offence. Shoma rolled his eyes, and pressed a long, lingering kiss to Yuzuru's lips.

"I'm sure you're great," Shoma said, placating. He tucked a lock of hair behind Yuzuru's ear, kissed the corner of his mouth. The touch was so...comfortable, so domestic, that for a moment it took Yuzuru off guard. He blinked, and reached absently to touch the re-set hair.

It felt odd, to have Shoma like this. Not only half naked in his bed, not only with the memory of Shoma's mouth wrapped around him so fresh in his mind, but just—comfortable. Relaxed, taking Yuzuru's physical affection easily and returning in kind. it was a departure from the Shoma he saw in the public eye, the Shoma who shied away from the simplest of touches.

"I just don't like them, very much," Shoma went on, and Yuzuru shook his head a little, to bring himself back into the here and now.

"What, really?" Yuzuru asked, surprise lilting his tone.

"How do you think I got so good at _giving_ them," Shoma said matter-of-factly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Of _course_. Of course he learned how to suck a dick by avoiding having his dick sucked. It made perfect sense. 

Yuzuru prodded at the hollow of Shoma's cheek.

"Don't be cheeky," he said, yelping when Shoma turned, abrupt, and nipped at Yuzuru's poking, prodding fingertip. Shoma poked out his tongue. It was absurdly cute, given...well. Given what that very same tongue had been doing to him earlier. "I'm trying to be _nice_."

Yuzuru slid his palm over the soft skin of Shoma's belly, down past his hip, trailing his fingertips close to the tent in Shoma's pants, a dark patch of damp fabric proving just how much Shoma liked _giving_. Shoma's hips twitched, rolling gently into the touch. Close, but not enough.

"Just—" Shoma said, back arching cat-liked against the mattress, "this, this is fine."

"This?" Yuzuru stroked at the fabric again. It tugged, barely, across the bulge of Shoma's erection, and Shoma grit his teeth, pressing his hips up. Yuzuru mouthed at the flushed point of his jaw.

"You know what I mean," Shoma said. "Just—with your hand is fine."

"Fine," Yuzuru said, huffing. He didn't want to do _fine._  He wanted—he wanted to be _Yuzuru_. He wanted to come with his best, outsell, give better than he got. But sex wasn't skating, and Yuzuru was infinitely better and more practised at one than the other.

"Good," Shoma amended. He had slumped low into the pillows, lulled by the gentle, coaxing strokes of Yuzuru's fingers against his groin.

"Is that really all you want?" Yuzuru asked. He let the tips of his fingers dance, feather light, over the outline of Shoma's cock, straining a little beneath his slacks. It felt bigger than his own, which seemed bigger still, on someone as small as Shoma. Yuzuru traced it lazily, and Shoma shivered a little, the muscles at his hips tensing, as though he wanted to push up, press deeper into the touch, make it something firmer and more solid.

"Mmhm," he hummed. Yuzuru couldn't help himself—he stretched down, and pressed a kiss to the soft flesh beneath Shoma's belly button. He tensed, briefly at the touch, and lay a hand on the back of Yuzuru's head. He teased his kisses a little lower, closer to the waistband of Shoma's pants, but the hand on his head applied a little pressure, held him from dipping any lower.

"Don't. I—really don't want that," Shoma said, quietly. Yuzuru nodded, stroking a placating thumb against Shoma's hip.

"I won't." He drew his kisses higher, instead, up over Shoma's hitching diaphragm, over his sternum, along his collar. Shoma's tone had been soft, unsure, a little weak, and it made something squirm horribly in Yuzuru's gut, that he'd brought it out of him. "Sorry. Are you okay?"

"Mm," he said, twisting into the kiss Yuzuru pressed to his cheek. "I'm fine. I just don't like it."

Yuzuru mumbled his, "okay," into Shoma's waiting mouth, and Shoma's fingers carded deeper into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. It send a warm, pleasurable tingle down his spine, one that made him groan deep and low in the back of his throat.

He kept on kissing Shoma with long, languid strokes of his tongue, gentle nips and sucks of his lips, teeth catching now and then and biting, hard enough to raise blood beneath the surface of Shoma's skin, swell his lips hot against Yuzuru's own mouth. His fingers fumbled blindly, unfastening Shoma's belt and fly, but he didn't shuck them out of the way. Instead, he flattened his palm against Shoma's stomach, slipped his fingers beneath his waistband, into his boxers.

Shoma gasped against Yuzuru's lips at the first touch. He was hot, and painfully hard, and Yuzuru stroked over him with teasing, tentative fingers.

"More," Shoma mumbled, nipping lightly at Yuzuru's lips. He, it seemed, had far less patience than Yuzuru. Or else, had been harder for longer—he had, after all, had to wait his turn. Yuzuru laughed, a quiet chuckle swallowed up by Shoma's kisses, and rolled his fingers over Shoma's head, smearing the skin in the slick, seeping fluid. Shoma's hips shuddered up, flexing and rolling in tandem with the stroke of Yuzuru's fingertips.

"Mm—Yuzu," he breathed.

"I know," Yuzuru mumbled. He curled a loose fist around Shoma's length, stroked him over slowly, spreading a layer of pre-come right down to the base. Shoma sighed out a heavy, huffing breath through his nose.

Yuzuru wanted desperately to look down at him. Wanted to see the way Shoma's face heated, the blotchy, patchy blush bleed deeper across his jaw, down his neck. He wanted to watch the way his eyes might flutter, or else squeeze shut, wanted to see whether his mouth might hang open, stuck in a silent, pleasured sigh, or whether he might bite his lip, pinch until the skin breaks in a desperate fight to keep himself quiet.

He wanted to watch the heave of Shoma's chest, the harder Yuzuru stroked him. Watch the frantic hitch in his breathing as every pump of Yuzuru's fist drove him closer and closer to release. He wanted to see the way his stomach might twitch, the muscles tensing into hard, defined blocks. The way his fingers might clench, into the bedding or into Yuzuru's own skin.

He wanted to look everywhere, all at once, but Shoma wouldn't let him. Shoma kept him close with a hand curled loosely at the back of his neck, and the tantalising press of lips, lave of tongue, and needy little whines whenever Yuzuru dared to move too far away.

Yuzuru dug his hand deeper into Shoma's underwear, wrist sinking further out of sight, to tease his fingers over Shoma's balls. Shoma gives a jerky, violent shudder, and his mouth opens on a jittery gasp, body twitching at the unexpected touch. Yuzuru ran his hand up and down, over Shoma's shaft and back to cup over him, squeezing and rolling the tender flesh gently in his palm. Shoma writhed a little, at the touch; Yuzuru could tell that he was holding back, that he wanted to move more, from the rigid, tense muscles at his sides and his hips, keeping him firmly pressed against the mattress.

More than once, Yuzuru's fingers slipped a little too far. They pressed clumsily against the ridge of muscle behind his scrotum, and each time Yuzuru apologised, a whispered _sorry_ , against Shoma's softly panting mouth.

And each time, Shoma's reaction was...interesting.

The first slip made him jump, a full body spasm that made Yuzuru pause, ask again if Shoma was okay.

"Fine," Shoma had wheezed, pressing bodily up against Yuzuru, crushing the empty space between them to nothing. "Keep going."

The second made him _croon_ , an odd, keening noise that Yuzuru swallowed down hungrily, and pulled the muscles in his stomach so tight, his hips curled up, off the bedding all together. He had panted, then, heavily, almost worryingly so, and dropped both hands to push hurriedly at the loose waistband of his pants, nudging them down his thighs.

"Hot," he'd said, haphazardly shucking the clothing down his legs, kicking both trousers and underwear off his feet. Yuzuru had eased his touches, then, until the sudden spike in Shoma's breathing had steadied to something calmer, more manageable.

And the third, the third slip had travelled further still, brushing over the tight, clenching ring of muscle at Shoma's hole, and Yuzuru's apology was silenced by a breathy moan, something rumbling from far deeper in Shoma's chest than all the other throaty mewls he'd given. Shoma's hips pushed down, back, towards the feather light slip of Yuzuru's fingers over him.

Yuzuru paused, stilled. Hm. He drew his fingers back, massaged his perineum lightly. Shoma's mouth fell open, kisses forgotten.

Yuzuru rubbed in little, teasing circles, alternating between light, skin-deep touches and harder, deeper presses. The tickling dance of his fingertips made Shoma shiver, but the firmer touch made him quake, forced a little more of the barely-held control away from him.

And when he reached, experimentally, to rub over his hole, Shoma's resolve buckled entirely, and his back bowed up off the mattress in a great, deep arch, ass pressing down into the bedding, against Yuzuru's searching fingers.

Yuzuru fought back a smile. So, he _did_ want something more.

"Are you good?" He asked, continuing his absent stroking. He lifted his head back, away, to look down at Shoma's face, but found he couldn't get a good glimpse—Shoma had brought both hands up, covering his eyes. He nodded, ground his hips down onto one of Yuzuru's particularly heavy presses.

"Shoma?" He asked, lifting his hand away a little reluctantly to stroke over Shoma's neglected cock instead. Shoma gave a little disappointed whine, and drew his hands a little away from his face.

"I'm good," Shoma said breathily. He reached down, curled his fingers loosely around Yuzuru's wrist. "I'm—that's good."

"Mm," Yuzuru hums. He smoothed his fingers down again, and Shoma rolled his hips up, eager to meet Yuzuru's searching digits. Yuzuru nuzzled at Shoma's jaw, pressed a grinning kiss to the exposed skin, then sat up straight, wedged between Shoma's bent, spread knees. 

"Is that what you want?" Yuzuru asked, rolling the pad of his finger around the tight, twitching muscle. Shoma pressed the back of his hand over his lips.

It seemed a little ridiculous, that Shoma looked so embarrassed now. He had seemed perfectly unfazed, before, confident and content in his every move, but now—now the red in his face was a humiliated flush, rather than the pleasant, blotchy one Yuzuru was used to. It burned a violent pink, on his cheeks and nose and forehead, every inch of skin he wasn't trying to cover with his hands. Yuzuru bent to the sensitive skin on the inside of his knee, and applied a little pressure with his circling finger.

" _Nn-hah_ ," Shoma gasped thickly. His thighs shook, the thick, rigid muscles tensing, clenching. Yuzuru grinned into the crook of his knee.

"I can do that," he said. The quaver in his own tone gave away a little of his embarrassment; it was never _easy,_ talking about—about sex things. Yuzuru never felt wholly comfortably with it, always a little lost in his own skin, like the words coming out of him didn't quite _belong_ there, but. Shoma, clearly, wasn't going to _ask_ for this, no matter how badly he seemed to want it.

"You don't have to," Shoma said breathlessly.

"I know," Yuzuru said. "But—you want me to, right?"

He didn't need Shoma to say it for him to know. Every slip, tap, rub of his fingers against Shoma's entrance pulled weak, wanting little moans from him, and he canted his hips closer to every touch, searching for more.

Shoma huffed out a breath. Yuzuru watched him keenly, drawing his hand back up to give a few slow, lazy pumps of Shoma's shaft. He squirmed against the mattress, and as Yuzuru reached deeper between his legs again, Shoma's knees fell open, spread, leaving room for Yuzuru to touch more freely.

"Mhm," Shoma hummed through pursed lips.

Yuzuru grinned, darted down to kiss the smooth skin high Shoma's stomach. He wanted to touch him lower, kiss at the sparse trail of hair and follow it down, but Shoma seemed barely comfortable enough with this, and so he sat up straight, and circled Shoma's entrance with one more firm, goading press, before pulling away.

He looked around the room, searching for his discarded bag. The two big suitcases stood against the wall on the far side of the room, tucked out of the way, but his smaller backpack he'd abandoned closer to the bed. Close enough that he could reach out and grab it, if he risked a precarious lean over the edge of the mattress. He dragged it closer, and rifled through it, searching for the zipper to a pocket hidden in the depths of the pack, where he knew he'd shoved a few of the... _essentials_ he usually kept with his toiletries.

Shoma raised an eyebrow at him, when Yuzuru sat back up, shuffling to kneel between Shoma's still spread legs. He still looked a little breathless, a little wound up, but there was a twitch of amusement in the quirk of his brow. He rolled his eyes from the little bottle in Yuzuru's hand, and up to Yuzuru's face.

"If I'd known you were planning this I'd have come here sooner," he said. Yuzuru balked, and waved a hand between them.

"I wasn't—I didn't bring this for—not _specifically_ for—this. It's...just in case."

"Just in case," Shoma said. Yuzuru pinched at Shoma's calf and Shoma squawked, spreading his knees further apart, away from Yuzuru's nipping fingers.

"Shut up."

Shoma smiled, poked out his tongue again. A little, feral part of Yuzuru wanted to lean forward, catch Shoma's protruding tongue with his teeth. Instead, he poured a little dribble of lube onto his fingers, and rubbed them over Shoma's hole.

He jumped, and propped a leg back up, knee knocking into Yuzuru's side.

"Cold," he said. Yuzuru stuck out his tongue in retaliation.

"Serves you right," he said, smearing the lube absently over Shoma's entrance. Shoma tried to glare at him, but the longer Yuzuru touched, the harder he found it to maintain eye contact. His eyelids flickered, lowering involuntarily as Yuzuru's touch grew a little more insistent. His fingers gripped loosely at the thin bed sheets.

Yuzuru felt a little thrill of excitement run through him. This is what he had wanted so desperately, what he had thought about when he'd asked Shoma to come back with him—spreading Shoma bare on his mattress, touching him in all the ways he'd been wanting to, watching him come steadily undone. He'd wanted to see the blush creep over him, and the tension build within him, shaking his limbs and jumping his breaths. And already, Shoma was exceeding even the reaches of Yuzuru's fantasies. He'd never thought Shoma would let him do _this._

Yuzuru spread a little more lube over his fingers—rubbed it, this time, to generate a little heat—then pressed the tip of one finger against Shoma's hole. He circled it slowly, working gently at the tight, tense muscle there, easing his way slowly past Shoma's rim.

"Wait," Shoma said, and Yuzuru stilled, staring up at him. He flitted his gaze over Shoma's face, searching for the problem; unease, discomfort, second-guessing. He found nothing.

"What?" Yuzuru asked.

"Condom," Shoma said, and Yuzuru's eyes bulged at him.

"I wasn't gonna—we're not doing _that_ ," Yuzuru said. "Not right now. I need to—give me a break, at least."

Shoma shook his head.

"Fingers," he said. The back of is hand drifted, again, to cover his bitten lips. "It's cleaner."

Yuzuru rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he said, flopping over the side of the bed and fishing around in his bag once more. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Shoma aimed a kick at him. It caught Yuzuru square on the hip, and jostled him, enough that he had to slap both hands to the carpet to prevent himself tumbling off the side of the bed.

“You know brats don’t get orgasms, right?” Yuzuru said. Shoma’s wrist lay loose over his mouth, but Yuzuru could still see the grin pinching at his cheeks and lighting his eyes. _Cheeky_ , Yuzuru thought, a fond kind of warmth simmering in him.

Yuzuru righted himself on the bed, little foil square in hand, and shuffled to settle back between Shoma's legs. He made of show of it, opening the packet and rolling down the condom, dangling it obscenely in front of Shoma's face.

"Better?" He asked, when Shoma batted the slick, lubed up latex away from his nose.

"Much," Shoma said shortly. He yelped, when Yuzuru caught him by the hips and yanked him down a little, pulling him closer, but the hint of amusement in his eyes died rapidly as Yuzuru slipped his middle finger into the condom and drizzled another generous drop of lube over it, settling into something darker, more serious. Eager.

He watched Yuzuru lower his hand, push gently against his hole. Something in Shoma tensed, and his entrance clamped tight reflexively against the press of Yuzuru's finger.

"Relax," he said quietly, swirling lazily at the rigid, squeezing opening. Shoma took a long, shaky breath.

He pressed gently. Though Shoma felt taut and tensed, Yuzuru's finger began to slip in with surprising ease.

" _Oh."_

The sound came winded and soft, exhaled from Shoma's open mouth. Yuzuru flicked his eyes up, from where Shoma's hole was slowly swallowing his finger, to Shoma's face, flitting over his closed eyes and the soft wrinkle of his brow.

Yuzuru continued to watch him carefully as he slipped his finger back out, pushed in a little deeper, over and over, agonisingly slowly and carefully, until he was pushed in to the knuckle. The pinched, frowning skin at the top of Shoma's nose smoothed with each new press, until his face fell slack, jaw dropped, eyes flickering, fighting to stay open, to watch the place where Yuzuru's finger disappeared into him.

Yuzuru gave an experimental curl of his finger, and Shoma's back bowed up off the mattress. He mewled, soft and quiet, and huffed a breath. Yuzuru soothed his free palm up and down Shoma's thigh, easing the soft tremble beginning there.

"Is that okay?" He asked. Shoma nodded a little helplessly against the pillow. Yuzuru curled his finger again, searching, this time, poking and teasing different places within him, until—

" _Ah!"_ Shoma cried, sharp, and slapped a hand over his mouth, hips shuddering up off the bed, into the press of Yuzuru's finger. He lowered them shakily, twitching when Yuzuru rolled the tip of his finger against the same spot, gently, barely a tease. Yuzuru could see his struggle, the fight to keep some semblance of control over himself.

"There?" Yuzuru said, and he pressed again. Shoma moaned into his palm, and his eyes rolled closed. Yuzuru grinned, and bent to smooth a quick, dry kiss a over the closest part of Shoma he could reach—the inside of his knee, propped up at Yuzuru's side.

Yuzuru rubbed at him again, and Shoma nodded, groaning quietly as Yuzuru found a slow, building rhythm within him.

He was so _receptive_. Even the slightest shift of Yuzuru's fingers drew noise from him, pulled tremors and shivers from him, and when Yuzuru pulled out, slid a second finger into the condom and worked his way slowly back in, Shoma _whined_ , and shot out a hand to clamp briefly around Yuzuru's arm, low on his wrist.

"Okay?" He asked again, stilling. Shoma nodded, head lolling, wobbly on his shoulders, bottom lip caught hard between his teeth.

"Good," he breathed, gasping. "Good—more, Yuzu."

Yuzuru rewarded him kindly, methodically curling and twisting his fingers, alternating between holding them deep in Shoma's hole, teasing the sensitive organ within, and driving in and out of him, stretching the clamping muscle at his rim.

Every pump of Yuzuru's fingers made Shoma's cock jerk, jumping where it lay, blushed red and dribbling a thin, pearly line onto his belly. Shoma shifted, restless, one knee drawing up to his chest, the other leg pressing into Yuzuru's side, heel digging into Yuzuru's hip, and from his parted lips streamed an endless flow of sharp, hitching breaths, and quiet, high moans. He looked _incredible_ , laid bare like this, and Yuzuru slowed the steady flicks of his wrist to watch him.

Shoma turned his cheek to the pillow, and scrunched his eyes shut.

"Don't stop," he mumbled, sinking his hips deeper into the mattress, trying to coax the faster, more insistent movements from Yuzuru. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

"I won't," Yuzuru promised. Shoma bore down on Yuzuru's idle fingers, tensing deliciously around them, and Yuzuru bit back a groan of his own. He could only imagine what it might feel like, to have his length in there instead of his fingers. To feel Shoma clenching around him, muscles fluttering the harder Yuzuru thrust into him, the closer he came to the edge.

The thought roused a familiar interest low in his stomach, but—not now. This wasn't about him, or his pleasure.

Shoma dug his heel impatiently into Yuzuru's side.

"Then _move."_

Shoma rocked his hips thoughtlessly as the pump of Yuzuru’s fingers picked up speed once more, pushing deep, finding his prostate and massaging, watching with interest as another drop of fluid spilled out of Shoma’s tip, pouring into the small, glistening puddle spreading over his belly.

Yuzuru drew the pad of his thumb up the underside of Shoma's length, and watched the flesh contract, twitch desperately against his stomach. He teased his touch up, slow and light, from the base of him, but before he could reach the tip, circle the weeping slit, Shoma gave an almost violet jerk, and snapped out a hand, grabbing at Yuzuru's hand to still him.

He shook his head against the pillows.

"Don't," he said, "too much."

"You're so sensitive," he wondered, marvelling at the way Shoma's cock lurched on all it's own, leaking fresh fluid every time Yuzuru pressed that spot deep inside of him.

"Yeah," Shoma gasped, nodding absently and craning his neck back, head pushed deep into the plush pillows as Yuzuru upped his pace a little more.

"Are you—will you come? If I touch you here, too?" Yuzuru asked. He traced the tip of a finger against Shoma's swollen, rigid flesh, lighter than a feather, but Shoma tensed—bodily, unpleasantly—and wriggled away from the touch, squeezing Yuzuru's wrist until his knuckles turned white.

" _Don't_ ," he said again. "It's not—it doesn't feel good."

Yuzuru nodded, kissed a _sorry_ into the pale, trembling skin of Shoma's calf where he held it, tense and suspended near Yuzuru's shoulder. He brought his hand to Shoma's thigh, instead, squeezing reassuringly. Shoma's grip on his wrist slackened, but he didn't let go.

"Just—" Shoma started, then sighed, and hitched a shuddering breath in, "—just this."

Something about his tone fell so soft on Yuzuru's ears, sunk sugary warm and sweet into his chest and settled there, drifting into all the empty spaces until Yuzuru had no gaps left to fill, and barely any room to take even the shallowest of breaths.

"Okay," he said, a whisper of a thing. It felt inappropriate to talk any louder, to speak over Shoma's honey-sweet little moans and cries and quavering breaths.

Affection, bright and swelling, bubbled up from some deep place in Yuzuru's chest. He wanted to touch _more_ , to stroke his fingers over Shoma's cheek, into his hair, rub his thumb over Shoma's clenching fists and sooth a little of the tension from him, ease his desperation. He wanted closeness, to cover Shoma's writhing body with his own, chest to chest, to feel every pant and sigh against lips. He wanted to kiss him, plain and easy, the softest of presses, gentle enough to not smother the sounds Shoma made as Yuzuru pumped his fingers harder, lured him closer and closer to release.

He settled instead for drawing Shoma's ankle over his shoulder, kissing tenderly at his calf and smoothing the tips of his fingers up and down the shuddering muscles there.

"Are you close?" Yuzuru murmured, breathing the words into Shoma's skin. One of Shoma's arms drifted absently above his head, fingers finding the corner of the pillow and catching it in a tight grip. The other stretched out to reach for Yuzuru's hip, gripping him shakily.

" _Mmf_ —yeah," he said, barely above a whisper, head helplessly bobbing his yes as Yuzuru upped his paced, settled into a quick, steady rhythm, twisting and curling his fingers deep in Shoma's hole. Already, Shoma had drooled a steady puddle of fluid onto his belly, and Yuzuru wanted desperately to reach out, scoop it up, use the wet glide of it to stroke over his flushed shaft.

But Shoma didn't need it.

The muscles in his stomach quivered, trembling sporadically as Yuzuru fucking him with his fingers. His breaths came quick and shallow, from high in his chest, and the sounds that poured from him were higher, breathier, more desperate than before. He gripped Yuzuru's hip tight as his body tensed, wound tighter and tighter, then, for a moment, he stilled. Rigid and unmoving, clamping tight around Yuzuru's invading digits, before coming with a full-body shudder, thighs shaking uncontrollably. The leg pressed against Yuzuru's side drew in tighter, heel curling to dig into the bottom of his back, and the other twitched frantically by his shoulder. Thick, milky ropes spilled up over his stomach, his chest, and his hole trembled hot and tight against Yuzuru's fingers.

Yuzuru watched, fascinated, as Shoma's eyes rolled back in his head, as his lashes fluttered, mouth open in a silent, breathless cry, as Yuzuru coaxed him through with slower, more gentle touches, easing the pressure of his fingertips against Shoma's prostate, until Shoma gave a sudden jerk, hips shifting up, away. Too much.

Yuzuru slipped his fingers free slowly, mindful of Shoma's hitched little sigh and the final twitch of his abdomen, before he dropped both legs to the mattress and heaved a few full breaths, spent.

He left Shoma there, briefly, to discard of the condom and throw the lube out of the way, then scoop up the used face cloth and rinse it, ring it out, before returning to the bed. He swiped the cloth over the mess on Shoma's chest, his stomach, and gently over his cock, though the touch made Shoma jolt, and his face wrinkle in discomfort.

"Sorry," Yuzuru said. He folded the cloth, searching for a clean patch to continue his cleaning.  Shoma rolled languidly onto his stomach, stretching cat-like, happy and sleepy and satiated. Yuzuru whacked him gently with the cloth. Shoma folded his arms on the pillow, resting his head atop them, mouth and nose buried in his elbow.

The sweat on his brow had curled his fringe, and now that the skin and hair had dried, it hung loose and limp over his eyes. He watched Yuzuru over the fold of his arm, blinking sleepily. Yuzuru's stomach pooled warm and content at the sight.

"I'm not done," Yuzuru said. Shoma hummed, lazy, and arched his back in another stretch. It raised his ass a little off the bedding, flashing the slick streaks of lube still coating his cheeks, the inside of his thighs. "Stay there."

Shoma nodded into his arms, and kept himself still while Yuzuru swiped the cloth over him, gathering up the sticky, drying fluid. A couple of times, Shoma’s hips twitched, and his breath caught, and Yuzuru wondered, briefly, what might happen if he just...kept going, kept touching.

“Finished?” Shoma asked, voice thick with sleep. Yuzuru pulled the cloth away, folded it again.

“Yeah,” he said. “You good?”

“Mm. You?”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence. On Yuzuru’s part, it felt awkward. He wondered if he should say something more—there were so many questions he wanted to ask, questions he wanted to _answer_ , from Shoma. He felt a little dizzy from the way the night had gone, and his hold on it all seemed tenuous, as though one wrong move might snap the vision, wake him from the most incredible dream.

Shoma gave a soft snore. _Unbelievable_.

Yuzuru poked at his hip.

"Don't fall asleep."

Shoma yawned widely, and burrowed his face deep into his folded arms.

"Just a nap."

"Shoma, it's gotta be what, almost midnight?"

"A really long nap."

Yuzuru stared at him, exasperated. Really, he knew he should push, make Shoma go back to his own room. It would be suspicious, if anyone saw him leaving in the morning. Particularly if _Stéphane_ , or, apparently, Keiji, so him, but...

But Shoma looked comfortable, like that. Eyes lightly closed, cheeks still a pleasant shade of pink, a slow rhythmic swell and sink of his ribs as he settled, already, into sleep—Yuzuru really didn't have it in him to make him move.

"At least get under the covers," he mumbled, tugging the blankets out from under him and sliding them up over his back. Shoma said nothing, only breathed, deep and slow. Yuzuru brushed the long, unruly strands of hair back from Shoma's forehead. "You'll get a cold, idiot."

Shoma gave no response. Yuzuru brushed his fingers delicately over Shoma's brows once more, then dipped low—hesitated, for only a moment—and pressed a soft, barely there kiss between them.

He scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. He felt awfully like there was a conversation to be had, a discussion as to what tonight might mean—for Yuzuru, for Shoma, and for the two of them together—but as a yawn stretched at his own jaw, tiredness sinking sudden and sure into his very bones, Yuzuru decided it could wait until morning.

He padded across the room, turned out the light, and felt his way back to the bed by the thin strips of orange, seeping in from the lights on the street down below. Shoma's body had already warmed the space beneath the blanket, and Yuzuru nestled himself into it. Close, but not touching. It didn't feel right, somehow, to touch him while he slept, not when the waters had been so freshly tested, when no boundaries had been set.

Yuzuru settled on his back, and stared at the ceiling. Sleep pulled heavily at his eyelids.

He was just beginning to drift, lulled by Shoma's soft breathing beside him, when the mattress dipped, and a pair of warm, cracked lips pressed against his cheek. He turned his head, bleary, surprised, and Shoma caught his mouth, this time: barely a peck, so light Yuzuru might have imagined it.

And then Shoma rolled over, back to Yuzuru with the covers tucked under his chin, and fell back into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Serendipity: the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.
> 
> (Yuzuru's number one question is obviously: are you madly in love with me too, and also, where did you learn to suck dick like that)
> 
> This is it I promise, I swear I have ideas that aren't just porn 
> 
> Anyway I'm thirsty please leave me a comment and let me know what you thiiiiink and also I have a tumblr @ shomaun-ho that u can find me on if you want to talk about anything yuzusho or w/e, I'll be there, waiting okay thank u I'll go now


End file.
